


like a tangled sunbeam of gold

by reachthetree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reachthetree/pseuds/reachthetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry has never seen this teacup before.</i>
</p><p>A Beauty and the Beast AU of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a tangled sunbeam of gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amberdowny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberdowny/gifts).



> Hi! I took some liberties with the prompt "Beauty and the Beast AU". Hopefully you'll still enjoy this. If not I am sorry.
> 
> Title is from the poem "Roses and Rue" by Oscar Wilde.

Harry has never seen this teacup before.

He’s sure of this; it looks much more fancy than anything his family would be able to afford. The porcelain is thin, the roses on it look hand-painted, and along its rim is a thin stripe of gold. Harry frowns and lifts it out of the cupboard to examine it closer. There’s no label at the bottom; it’s just delicate white.

“Gemma!” He calls for his sister, and the floorboards creak as she comes into the kitchen. “Where did this cup come from?”

Gemma blushes at his question. “An old lady gave it to me when I went into town yesterday,” she says. “She said something about a prince and how I looked just right.”

Harry looks down at the cup. It’s very pretty.

“I don’t think it means anything, she was probably just making it up. But it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

She smiles at Harry and he nods slowly. “Very pretty,” he mumbles.

“Do you want to read with me for a bit?”

Harry puts the cup back where he found it and tries to shake it from his thoughts. “Of course I’ll read with you.”

It’s a sunny day, so they read in the garden. Their house is not big, but it has room for three beds and a small kitchen, and thanks to the location a few miles from the closest town, they could afford a place with a little garden as well. There’s one apple tree and a lilac bush and some wild roses.

They sit under the lilac and inhale the smell as they venture into a fairytale world together, the bees buzzing lazily and the wind gently stroking their skin.

Harry doesn’t think about the teacup any more that day.

When the night comes, however, he has a dream more vivid than any other dream he can recall having had ever. It’s a boy with sharp cheekbones and a wild fringe, looking right into his soul with sad blue eyes. He’s wearing a golden crown and holding a rose in his hand. Harry asks him who he is, and just when he opens his mouth to answer, Harry wakes up.

The next day, their mother Anne suggests a trip to the nearby lake. They pack some food and water. Harry sneaks a look at the teacup when he reaches for the top shelf in the cupboard to get something to carry the water in. It looks like it did yesterday. Harry doesn’t drink tea and he wonders briefly when they’ll even use it.

They walk to the lake at a leisurely pace. Harry likes the warm season; there’s less work for Anne then, less heavy clothes to sew, which means more free time for them all. The sun is warm on their faces and Gemma finds a white flower that she picks up and puts in her hair.

Harry has been to this lake countless times for as long as he can remember, but he’s never really reflected on the silhouette of a giant castle on a hill on the other side of it. When he asked as a child, Anne had said “it’s just an old castle, no one lives there now”, and with that Harry had been content.

But he’s not a child any more, and he wonders again. It doesn’t look unfriendly, but Harry still feels like it looms over him when he takes off his clothes and steps into the lake, letting the chilly water envelop him. He never asked who used to live there. It didn’t seem important, not when he had more tangible castles and royals in the stories he read with Gemma. It could have been thousands of years ago; maybe no one now alive remembers.

Harry strokes through the water as he thinks, swimming far from the shoreline. In the distant he can hear Anne call for him, so he turns around. He turns his back against the castle, but it’s still in his thoughts as he swims back to land.

When he gets in bed that night, body worn and relaxed after a day in the sun, he falls asleep almost instantly. He has the same dream as the night before: a boy with sharp cheekbones, holding a rose, looking at him with melancholic blue eyes from under a crown.

“Who are you?” Harry asks in the dream.

“I’m–“ is all the boy is able to say before Harry wakes up.

That day, Harry takes a walk by himself. He tells Anne and Gemma that he’s going to pick some blueberries, so they send him off with a bit of bread and some water for the walk. Harry takes it gratefully and sets off for his real mission.

He’s heading toward the castle across the lake. He reaches the lake around midday, and then proceeds to walk around it, thinking that if he follows the shoreline he’ll get there sooner or later. There’s no path, so walking goes slowly, bending branches and trampling into deep moss. Harry notices the sun creeping closer and closer to the horizon, but he’s not nearly close enough to the castle. He has to get back before dark; the forest is no place to be in the night.

The way back is a little easier, since he’s cleared some of the obstacles away. When he’s back at the shore he remembers his family, and how he told them he’d look for blueberries. He takes a few minutes to hurriedly pull some berries from their stems; little leaves getting caught between his fingers as they slowly go purple.

It’s not much, but Gemma and Anne smile at him when he brings the basket back, and they eat the blueberries with cream as dessert after dinner. Harry would feel content if it wasn’t for the castle looming over his mind, and his strange dreams.

When Harry goes to bed, sleep comes to him swiftly, and the dream boy comes back. The rose he’s holding looks a little tired, and his wistful expression is the same.

“Who are you?” Harry asks for the second night in a row.

“I’m Louis.” The boy starts to smile cautiously, just the hint of a smile, the crown on his head askew.

And Harry wakes up with his heart beating hard, like a horse is galloping in his chest.

He needs to go to the castle, he’s sure of it now. So during breakfast he makes something up, tells Anne and Gemma that he’s going camping with his friend who lives in town, Niall.

“That’s spontaneous,” Anne remarks, but her smile is warm. She has no reason to believe Harry is lying.

He swallows his nerves down and nods. “You know Niall, never a second’s quiet with him.”

So he collects the stuff he needs to be away overnight without raising any suspicion. Just like the other day when they were packing for the lake outing, he reaches over the shelf where the fancy teacup is standing, and just like then, he catches a glance at it. The roses painted on it don’t look as fresh as they had. Harry shakes his head and blinks. Surely he imagined that. He takes the cup out and looks closer at the detailed paint. No, the petals have definitely started to droop, but the paint looks exactly the same as before.

Harry puts the cup back and hurries to collect the rest of the things he needs.

It’s a little rougher to walk through the forest weighed down by a bag, but he keeps a steady pace. The sun shines down through the foliage, creating beautiful patterns on the ground, and birds are singing. It’s a beautiful day and Harry lets himself feel hopeful about his mission. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s sure he’s going to find it.

The improvised path he made along the lakeside stops all too quickly, and then he has to bend branches away and climb over rocks to get forward. The sun starts to set, and Harry finds himself constantly looking over his shoulder to see that he’s not being followed. He looks over his shoulder so much that he doesn’t realize how close he is to the castle until the ornate metal gate is staring him in the face. There are poles on each side of it with tiny roaring lions on top of them.

He made it.

Harry pants, pulse working hard after his straining walk uphill. The sun is almost gone but the moon is close to being full, casting a cold light over the rose garden behind the gates. He looks inside curiously, trying to see if it looks lived in. It really doesn’t. Carefully, he tries to see if the gates are open.

They are.

The gates open with a shrill creaking that makes Harry wince, but he’s in. He walks slowly through the rose garden, where everything is growing wildly and unkempt, looking around him for something he doesn’t know what it is. There’s a statue of a hedgehog and a frog playing with each other; it looks like it might have been a fountain but there’s no water flowing through it now.

When Harry gets to the door, it seems natural that he should knock. It’s night by now, stars twinkling brightly in the sky above. Somehow they seem closer from here than from Harry’s own garden.

His knock echoes inside, he can hear the sound bounce off the walls in what must be an enormous hallway. Then he waits. He waits for a good minute, thinking it would take time for someone to get to the door in such a big building, but no one comes. He knocks again, so hard it hurts his knuckles a little.

Still no answer.

Reluctant to sleep outside, Harry takes a tentative hand to the door. He feels bad about entering someone’s home without their approval, but he feels worse about the prospect of being lost to the creatures of the night.

It’s open.

Harry steps into the hall on soft feet, careful not to cause any more echoes. He sees no light anywhere. Just like he did through the garden, he walks slowly in the hallway, carefully watching everything around him. There are paintings on the walls, and old swords hanging in a cross over a shield.

It would feel a lot like breaking and entering if it weren’t for how everything is covered in dust.

Eventually the hallway ends, and a winding staircase begin. Harry looks up it and ponders. There are also doors on each side of the corridor. If anyone were in fact home, they would probably be more likely to be upstairs, which could explain why they didn’t hear him knocking. Yes, it’s probably best not to disturb them. Harry opens the door on his left, and finds himself in the kitchen.

There’s a big stove, pots hanging from the ceiling over the table in the middle of the room, and a second door is slightly open, revealing a pantry behind it. It’s a lot cozier than the hallway. There’s also a narrow sofa, which looks very tempting to Harry after his long day of walking.

He lies down on the sofa and falls asleep before he’s even got his blanket out.

And of course, he has the same vivid dream tonight too. Tonight, he notices a hint of green in the boy’s somber blue eyes.

“Louis.” Dream Harry speaks slowly, like he has all the time in the world, like dreams aren’t fleeting.

The rose Louis is holding looks like it’s about to start withering away, and there’s a tension in his jaw that hasn’t been there in the previous dreams.

“I’m almost out of time.” Louis is whispering, but in the dream the sound is magnified, and it’s like he’s whispered it right in Harry’s ear. “Help me.”

“How?” Harry can hear the desperation is his voice, but the dream is already fading away, and Harry wakes up with a jolt, almost falling off the sofa.

His first thought is: how can I help you when you’re not real?

Then he looks around at where he is. Right. He’s in the castle across the lake, sleeping in the kitchen. Daylight is seeping in through the window, dust dancing in the light rays.

It really doesn’t seem like anyone is living here.

Harry eats the bread he brought with him for breakfast (he’s too anxious to raid the pantry, although it seems like a breakfast from there would be slightly more luxurious). While he chews the crispy sourdough, he considers what to do, but it’s not much of a decision: of course he’s going to explore a little bit. He got this far, didn’t he?

The dream gnaws on his mind, but he tells himself that there’s nothing he can do right now, and brushes the breadcrumbs from his clothes before walking out of the kitchen. He’s only come as far as the bottom of the stairs when he notices a clatter behind him. Thinking he’s been found out, he turns around with his heart in his throat, only to find there’s no one behind him.

Until he looks down and sees a candelabrum waving at him.

Harry gapes.

“Go on, then!” A shrill voice says. Harry looks around, and there’s a sigh from the floor. “Yes, I’m a talking candelabra, can you skip ahead of the amazement?”

“Er, right. Okay. Sorry.” Harry clears his throat. “Nice to meet you.”

There’s a delighted giggle. “I like it when they are polite,” the candelabrum says, seemingly mostly to itself.

“Am I allowed to go upstairs?” Harry feels extremely unsure of everything. Is the candelabrum the ruler of the house? It doesn’t seem angry with him for staying, so that’s good at least.

“I’m not the ruler of the house,” it responds, like it read his mind. “But I do think his royal highness wouldn’t object to your snooping one bit.”

Royal? Harry blushes, but he’s even more curious now, so he finally takes a first step up the stairs. Every step is covered in thick red carpet, softening his way. He turns back several times during the climb to see if the candelabrum is still following him. It is: it jumps up the steps with surprising agility.

When they reach the top, Harry’s forehead is sweaty and his hair is sticking to it. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his shirt and looks down at his companion. It doesn’t seem very affected by the amount of steps. Then again, maybe candelabra don’t have lungs.

They’re standing at the start of a very long corridor, much like the one downstairs, but with lower ceiling. Harry turns his head and walks down the carpet slowly, looking for something but not sure what. The candelabrum stays behind him, but keeps quiet.

There are portraits here too, of people wearing luxurious capes, sitting on horses, surrounded by white swans. Harry doesn’t pay much attention to any of them, and he’s starting to think that this whole expedition was just silly, when a familiar pair of blue eyes meet his.

Harry yelps. “It’s him! Louis!” He looks much happier in the painting than in Harry’s dreams. Harry looks for the candelabrum, which is still by his feet. “Who is this?” He asks, pointing at Louis.

“That’s the master of the house, prince Louis,” the candelabrum responds in a sad voice. “But he’s not here any more.”

There’s a heavy feeling in Harry’s stomach. “What happened?”

“It was so unnecessary,” the candelabrum sighs. “His highness has quite the temperament, you see, and this could easily have been avoided. But he had to refuse that fairy a cup of tea just because they were a little sassy to him…” The candelabrum trails off as if lost in thoughts.

“So where is he now?” Harry presses.

“I don’t know,” the candelabrum says wistfully. “I’m starting to think he might be gone forever.”

Harry looks at the painting again. He’s never seen Louis smile in his dreams, and it’s mesmerizing, even through a canvas. It’s peculiar to see the sorrowful boy from his dreams with a confident smile on his face, but it’s undoubtedly him; even in the soft brushstrokes, his cheekbones are sharp.

“I wish I could help him,” he mumbles, never taking his eyes off the painting.

“So do I,” the candelabrum says. “So do I.”

Harry has had enough of exploring the castle now. All his curiosity has been eaten by worry. He casts one last glance at the portrait of Louis, and smiles apologetically at him, before he starts walking away the same way he came.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he tells the candelabrum over his shoulder, “but I really must be going.”

The candelabrum has trouble keeping up with his brisk pace, and is a fair bit behind him. “What about Louis?” it yells in its shrill voice at him as he starts to descend the stairs.

He pretends he didn’t hear that and runs down, until he gets to the kitchen and hurriedly grabs his bag. It’s not until he’s outside the gates, taking a minute to catch his breath and look back into the rose garden, that he allows himself to think it.

What about Louis?

The journey back is somewhat easier, at least in the physical sense. Harry traces his own steps back, branches cracking under his feet, his heart full of worry. What about Louis? He wants to help him, so badly, but he doesn’t know how.

When he’s reached the opposite side of the lake, it starts raining. It starts with big droplets, few but powerful, but it soon picks up and it’s only a few minutes until Harry is soaked through. His bag is getting heavier by the second, soaking up water. A summer rain shouldn’t be this cold. The wind blows desperately through the trees, making them whine as if in agony.

Harry clenches his jaw to prevent his teeth from clattering and trudges on. The rain dripping down his face reminds him of tears, and all the while the thought spins in his head: What about Louis? His steps get heavier and heavier, but his body takes them on autopilot while the rain pours down on him. Everything starts to feel less and less real, and more like a vivid dream. By the time he reaches the garden behind his house, he half expects Louis to come out from behind the rose bushes, untouched by the rain.

But this is real. The rain is still falling hard and Louis isn’t there.

When he gets inside, it’s all he can do not to collapse on the floor. Anne has heard the door and hurries to meet him, brows knitted together in worry.

“You need to get out of those clothes, darling,” she says. Harry nods and lets her lead him to his room.

He’s barely undressed and in bed before he falls into a deep sleep, hoping Louis will still be there to greet him on the other side of consciousness.

He is. His rose has started to lose petals, now, and there’s no colour on Louis’ face. He looks at Harry with his lips parted and trembling, and Harry aches with intense desire to help him.

“What do you need?” Harry needs to ask now, before he’s awake again, before it’s too late.

“True love’s kiss,” Louis whispers, and this time the whisper isn’t loud at all. It sounds like it’s hard for Louis to get the words out, even in a dream.

Harry wakes up shaking and in a cold sweat, his body burning in a fever.

“You poor thing!” Anne puts her hand on his hot forehead, and Harry tries to smile, but he’s so tired. He feels like he’s still in the dream, almost, like Louis’ weakness has transferred to him.

“You just get some rest, and I’ll make you some tea with honey, that’ll make you feel better,” she says. Harry doesn’t even have the energy to protest that he doesn’t like tea.

When she brings it to him a few minutes later, it’s in the beautiful cup Gemma had got from a stranger. It might be the fever, but Harry thinks he sees one of the painted roses having lost a petal, which lies under it near the bottom of the cup.

Harry curls his fingers around the delicate porcelain and puts his lips to the gold rim to take a sip. But as soon as his lips touch the cup, something happens. It’s like time stops, and gold dust swirls in a gentle tornado around him, and the cup is gone. When the dust settles, his hand isn’t wrapped around the cup any more.

It’s wrapped around Louis’ hand.

“You saved me.” His voice is clear, and this is not a dream. He’s sitting on Harry’s bed, next to him, beautiful and real. Louis’ smile is even more striking in reality than it was on the painting.

“Of course,” Harry says, because it seems obvious that he was meant to break the spell. The fever has magically subsided and he smiles at Louis, squeezes his hand just to feel that he’s real.

“True love’s kiss.” Louis whispers it, just like in the dream, but with a different meaning this time.

“True love’s kiss,” Harry echoes. It fully hits him then; he’s Louis’ true love.

Louis grins at him and Harry recognizes the confident smile from the painting. He was pretty as a teacup but he’s a thousand times prettier as a human. They’re still sitting there, holding hands, and they continue to do so until Anne enters the room to see how Harry is doing. She startles when she sees Louis.

“Oh my goodness.” She’s got her hand on her chest. “Who is this young man, Harry? And how on earth did he get here? I could swear I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

She shakes her head with closed eyes and then opens them again, much like Harry had done when he thought he was seeing the teacup change. It hadn’t helped Harry and it doesn’t help Anne.

“Hello, ma’m,” Louis chirps. “I’m so sorry to intrude. My name is Louis Tomlinson the Sixteenth, and I’m afraid I didn’t exactly enter your home in the most appropriate manner.”

Anne stares at him, waiting for an explanation, and Louis nods to the chair in the corner. “You might want to sit down for this.”

Harry sees Anne notice their linked hands, but she doesn’t comment and he doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand. He listens intently as Louis explains what happened.

“I was having a bit of a bad day,” Louis begins. “Nothing seemed to go my way, and I was out in my garden, tending to my roses, when one of those sassy fairies came along and demanded to be invited to the castle for a cup of tea.”

Anne’s eyes widen first at the mention of fairies and then even more at the mention of the castle.

“And since I was in a bad mood,” Louis continues, “I refused. It seems so ridiculous now, but I felt it very strongly then. I’ve never been good at biting my tongue. So the fairy punished me by turning me into a teacup. I think they were certain I would never find true love, because they cackled awfully self-satisfied when they decided to make it a spell with a True Love’s Kiss Clause.”

Louis pauses for a second to roll his eyes before he goes on. “Anyway, I had a bit of luck, because one of the witches that frequent my neighborhood came by not long after. Of course, she knew what was up as soon as she touched the porcelain, and set out to find my true love. Only it seems like she thought the person for me was your sister.”

He says the last part turned to Harry, and Harry can feel the colour in his cheeks rise.

“But it was me,” Harry says quietly, and looks into Louis’ happily crinkled eyes, feeling warm and content with every fiber of his being. He forgets that Anne is there for a moment, until she clears her throat and speaks.

“I’m glad we were able to help you out of your predicament, Louis,” she says with a smile. “Would you care to stay for lunch?”

“I would love that, thank you.” Louis reply comes easily, and Harry marvels at how quickly life went from troublesome to harmonious.

When Anne has left the room, Louis kisses him. His lips have the faintest taste of honey.

*

The next time Harry goes to the castle, he’s not alone. Louis is leading him by the hand, and the journey seems easier than it did before. Sun shines down on them, and Harry thinks he can hear the birds chirp their well wishes from the trees above them.

This time when he walks through the gate, it’s to settle in his new home. Louis takes him to his bedroom, the candelabrum following in their footsteps, ecstatic about having Louis back and smug about having been right that Louis very much wanted Harry in his home. The bedroom is beautiful: velvet curtains on the four-poster bed, brass details everywhere, and a window sill so wide you could sit on it and watch the stars.

But what Harry wants most on his first day as Louis’ true love is to explore the rose garden.

So they go out to breathe in the summer air, full of life and promises. They never let go of the other’s hand, using their free hands to stroke petals and bring flowers closer to their faces to smell them.

“I never even dared to dream that fairytales could be real,” Harry says, and Louis stops in his stroll, effectively bringing Harry to a halt with him.

“Me neither,” he whispers.

There’s a moment when they look into each other’s eyes, seeing forests and seas and trying to grasp the monumental nature of their relationship. True love. Harry is about to say something incredibly sentimental when he notices a mischievous glint in Louis’ eyes, and before he knows what’s coming, Louis has let go of his hand to tickle his waist. Harry doubles over in surprise at first, but he soon accepts the challenge and runs. He zig-zags between rose bushes, almost running into the frog and hedgehog statue at one point, bright smile never leaving his face.

Louis chases Harry around the garden, brushes against a rose bush, petals gliding through the air around him. When he gets to him, he tickles him until they both laugh so hard their stomachs hurt. After the laughter has died down, they lay back on the grass and watch the moonrise, and the stars come out to play. Just like when Harry was here alone, the stars seem close, like he could stretch out a hand and pick one like a ripe plum from a tree. Louis gives him a honey-lipped kiss.

And that’s the start of their happily ever after.


End file.
